


don't let me hold you here (i'm not sure i want you to stay)

by lionofstone



Series: Hold Me Here [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, I Tried, google: hogwarts was founded 300 years before merlin was alive, like how harry loses his parsletongue, me: new phone who this, mild dumbledore bashing if you squint, or how merlin was a hogwarts student, this didn't really follow the prompt because merlin isn't a ghost but, this ignores a lot of extra-canonical material as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionofstone/pseuds/lionofstone
Summary: "I have loved people without magick," Merlin confessed. "I think I love them still."Slytherin fixed him with a steady gaze. "Would they have loved you? If they’d known?" Merlin wanted to scream 'yes yes yes!' but he couldn’t know. He had never worked up the courage to tell them. When they had heard the name Emrys, they imagined evil and darkness, not their friend Merlin, not the fumbling servant who laughed with them while they ate. But he remembered the fondness that Arthur had shown him, the feel of his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, and he thought that he would’ve loved him, regardless. But it’s Slytherin who’s arm rest across his shoulders now, who gestured around this chamber of secrets and swore that he would keep them safe. And it’s Merlin who leans into him and nods his head mutely and does nothing to stop it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for seraph-irasel's prompt on tumblr: The ghost of Merlin checks in on Slytherin and he is disappointed in both the other houses and what Slytherin has become. 
> 
> I was going to have Merlin become a ghost, I really was, but then immortal!Merlin wouldn't leave me alone. I do really love the idea of Merlin being a Hogwarts student, but, for whatever reason, this story came to me with Merlin being a different kind of magic. It gave him a more outside perspective, I think. This might be my new headcanon for how everything played out. I'd love to revisit this world sometime.

It was a common misconception— that’s what happens when stories get passed down through word of mouth and rumour— but Merlin never attended Hogwarts. He hadn’t needed to, not when he was a naturally gifted sorcerer, who dealt with an entirely different branch of magick. He minded his business, he never strayed too far from Camelot, and he never paid any attention to the strange castle in Scotland.

But Camelot fell, and Merlin had always been the curious type.

Which was how he ended up standing on the steps leading to Hogwarts main entrance, with four wands trained on his chest, his hands up in a signal of surrender. He matched names to faces, matched rumours to their origins. Gryffindor was a stout man with auburn hair, wearing gold on his ears, and he was the one to speak first.

'Stranger,' he said, 'who are you? How did you find this place?'

'Emrys,' he replied, 'Merlin Emrys.'

They offered him a tour.

Gryffindor took him to the tops of the school, through towers and staircases, and Merlin raced behind him, gasping for breath between fits of laughter. There was a tower named for him, Merlin learned, decorated in red and gold, with lions moving across the stitching of the tapestries. Gryffindor’s students slept in the dormitories, and Merlin found them all sitting in their common room, practising magick and playing chess. 

Gryffindor guided him to the precipices of the tower, climbed onto the window sill, and before Merlin could even think to intervene, jumped. 

He reappeared a few seconds later, unharmed. 

'Safety procedures,' he explained at the look on Merlin’s face. 'We have spells for those. It’s fun, come on, you should try it.'

'This is setting a horrible example for your students,' Merlin whinged, but he stood on the window sill, and they jumped together. With wind rushing in his ears, Merlin wondered about death. 

It was a curious thing, the way Gryffindor stomped around, always courteous, always one second away from a fight. They fought, too, just as much as they laughed, pitting their differing types of magick against each other just to see who would come out on top. But when a young witch with blood on her hands slammed open a door a shouted about a danger in the forest, they didn’t even need to look at each other before they bolted, magick at the ready and their hearts beating in perfect time. 

'There is adventure here,' Gryffindor promised him, as they sat by the window of the highest tower. 'I can feel it calling out to me, like a stallion in my ribcage.'

Merlin gazed at Gryffindor as Gryffindor gazed at the stars. The moonlight paled his handsome face, but his smile more than made up for that. 'I’ve felt it too,' Merlin answered, honestly. 'Don’t let it take you away.'

Gryffindor reminded him of Arthur. He liked to think they would’ve gotten along. 

It was Ravenclaw who showed him the library, as one may expect. But she also showed him the Quidditch pitch. It took her longer than strictly necessary to explain all the rules, to lecture him on the safety of brooms, but they ended up in the air, anyway, so he had no reason to complain. 

She had dark hair, and it whipped around her face as she manoeuvred through the sky, clutching her broom like it was an extension of her very being. She reminded him of Morgana, somehow, when he caught her in the right light. He couldn’t bring himself to touch a broom, to take to the sky like that. Jumping out of windows with a certain someone had changed the way he felt about such things. Ravenclaw seemed to understand. 

She ran her hands reverently down the spines of books, reading their words with a sort of awe that Merlin had never been able to cultivate in himself. But they read together because it was important to Ravenclaw. 

'You can find the world in books if you look hard enough,' she laughed, and Merlin noticed she was reading a storybook. He smiled to himself as he agreed. 

She showed him art, too, huge canvases she painted and charmed alive with a clever charm that Merlin didn’t have an equal to. The paintings moved, spoke. 

'I invented it,' she told him. 'I thought it would be nice to talk to them.'

'You’re right,' Merlin smiled. 'It is nice.'

Hufflepuff showed him the classes. She let him sit on lessons, let him interject where he saw fit. When a student corrected her, she smiled and laughed and said _We can learn from this_  and went on to teach them. She was breeding curiosity in them, he thought, bringing light and life and a desire to learn into their lives. 

They sat together, after the lesson, flipping through students work and discussing her plans for their future. She doodled on a scrap bit of parchment and told him about her dreams. She wanted to help people, she wanted to educate the future, and she didn’t much care what her students were like, as long as they were hard working, dedicated. In their essays, her students made it obvious to Merlin that she was succeeding. 

Hufflepuff played music, tapping out rhythms on drums. Her common room is hidden there, nestled in a space by the kitchen, and Merlin was delighted, and he got to his knees and crawled into the entrance. Inside, Hufflepuff played more music. She played it louder, wider, with more whoops and singing. Her students joined in, and the common room came alive. 

'It’s important to work hard,' Hufflepuff said to Merlin, after, when they were sitting by the fire. 'It’s more important to be loved.'

Merlin thought of the Knights of the Round Table, sitting around fires swapping stories and singing and drinking, and he has to agree. To be loved like this, like Hufflepuff’s love, with noise and quiet and song and fire, was something he missed. 

'It’s important to be loved,' he said. 'It’s more important to remember what being loved is like, when you’re not.'

'You are loved,' Hufflepuff frowned. 'You will always have home here, Emrys.' 

He didn’t tell her that his home was long dead, and Camelot was nothing more than dust, now. 

Slytherin showed him the truth. They talk about power, about life and death and all things in between, and they talk about magic. Slytherin is all power, ranting about respect and deservedness and purity of blood. 

'I’m not one of your pure-bloods,' Salazar, Merlin reminds him. 'I am not one of you.'

'But you’re magick,' Slytherin replied. 'You’re magick.'

And Merlin stopped fighting, because he was magick, and he understood what Slytherin was saying. He understood, as much as he hated it. Camelot had hated magick, and Merlin had pretended he didn’t have it to blend it, and he’d have been hung it had been discovered. And Slytherin spoke about keeping them safe. 

Maybe Merlin didn’t agree, but that didn’t stop him from understanding. 

It was Merlin who Slytherin told of his chamber, secret, beneath the school, and it was Merlin who helped him build it. Merlin’s magick made it quicker, made it quieter than Slytherin could do on his own. They wasted hours hiding in the basements of the school, building, creating.

'I have loved people without magick,' Merlin confessed. 'I think I love them still.'

Slytherin fixed him with a steady gaze. 'Would they have loved you? If they’d known?'

Merlin wanted to scream _yes yes yes!_ but he couldn’t know. He had never worked up the courage to tell them. When they had heard the name Emrys, they imagined evil and darkness, not their friend Merlin, not the fumbling servant who laughed with them while they ate. But he remembered the fondness that Arthur had shown him, the feel of his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, and he thought that he would’ve loved him, regardless. 

But it’s Slytherin who’s arm rest across his shoulders now, who gestured around this chamber of secrets and swore that he would keep them safe. And it’s Merlin who leans into him and nods his head mutely and does nothing to stop it. 

Slytherin valued more than the quality of his student's blood, Merlin knew. It was about the quality of their magick, or else he never would’ve let Merlin in. And Slytherin’s students were talented, or they worked hard to be talented, and they wanted and they wanted and they wanted. They strived for their ambitions. They were underhanded in their dealings, sometimes, but they were clever and they dreamed, and Merlin counted himself as one of them. 

Slytherin counted him as one of them. 

'I think I am one of yours,' Merlin said. 'Not your magick, not your blood, but your type of student.'

Slytherin looked at him as though seeing right through him. 'Yes, I think you are.'

Because Merlin did what he had to do to get through life, put himself in a position of power and worked every day to be better. And he saw loyalty among Slytherin’s, the sort he’d had with Arthur and his Knights, and Merlin thought that he may have been placed there, in another life. 

And maybe he was one of Slytherin’s students, in a way. He learnt enough from him, certainly.

But Slytherin left Hogwarts, and Merlin didn’t go back. 

And then the founders fell, one by one, giving way to the natural order that was death. Merlin attended three funerals, but no one seemed to know what had happened to Slytherin. There was no funeral to attend. 

Hufflepuff had told Merlin hat he would always have a home at Hogwarts, but Merlin had always made his home out of people, and there was no one left at Hogwarts who he loved. 

Still, he kept an ear trained to the goings-on of the Wizarding World. And when he heard of Voldemort, he helped where he could. And when he heard of the Boy Who Lived, he celebrated with the best of them. And in the Boy Who Lived’s second year at Hogwarts, he returned. 

'I know what Slytherin’s monster is,' he said, standing amongst the strange instruments of the headmaster’s office, looking a little wild. 'Something tells me that you do, too.'

'Did you not hear of it the first time, Emrys?' Dumbledore asked, smiling over his half-moon spectacles at Merlin, as though he was a student. 

'No,' Merlin sighed. 'Not until after. But Slytherin’s monster is not a spider.'

'I know,' Dumbledore said. 'I also know who opened the chamber. This time and the last.'

'And you do nothing?'

Dumbledore stared at Merlin again, and Merlin stared at him. 

'You are not my headmaster, Albus. I am not your student. I am older than even you.'

'I know.'

'Then answer me.'

And Dumbledore smiled, a little sadly, and told him the story. 

'I will never understand your sort of magick,' Merlin whispered. 'You say that Voldemort— Riddle— was Slytherin’s heir? And he trapped himself in objects around the world?'

'Yes to both, my friend.' Merlin didn’t correct that assumption. 'Tom Riddle is the last living heir of Slytherin.'

Merlin didn’t say _we didn’t know what happened to him when he left_ , although he wanted to. He just stared, stared at the man across from him who thought himself so wise and so powerful, and Merlin shook his head. 

'Will you accept my help, Dumbledore?'

'You say yourself that you don’t understand "our magick",'Dumbledore answered with a smile, and Merlin knows it is a polite way of denying him. 

But Helga Hufflepuff had promised him a home in Hogwarts, and magick remembers words like those. Hogwarts had always felt alive, to Merlin, and it felt alive then. He told Dumbledore, 'I will stay at the school, then. I will protect the students here. I will keep my eyes out for Slytherin’s monster, and when you come to your senses, I will be here.'

The Sorting Hat looked down from it’s shelf and said: 'They remembered you fondly, until their dying days. They remember you fondly still.'

Merlin looked at the hat and nodded, and Dumbledore said no more, even though Merlin could see that he wanted to. The Sorting Hat was quiet, and Hogwarts had welcomed him back into her embrace. 

Harry Potter— The Boy Who Lived— got caught up in the plot. Merlin watched, from a distance. He would love to intervene, but he could feel Dumbledore’s eyes on him, even after the Headmaster left the school. Harry ran headfirst into danger without looking back and pulled a sword out of the Sorting Hat, and Dumbledore returned just in time for Merlin to yell at him. 

'This is not the spirit of Gryffindor, Albus! This is recklessness, not bravery!'

'Harry pulled the sword from the hat. Only a true Gryffindor could do that.' Dumbledore sounded so sure when he said it, and Merlin wanted to curse. 

He did, and then: 'I knew Godric. He was a reckless spirit, sure, but he valued courage and daring and doing what’s right, not putting oneself in danger!'

'Harry values the same, Emrys.' 

Merlin breathed in deeply, through his nose. 'But his house doesn’t. Have you seen them?'

'Yes.'

'Don’t play sage with me, Albus. Godric wouldn’t have wanted this. This hatred that they hold, especially towards Slytherin. There’s more fire in them than compassion, it seems.'

'You haven’t been paying enough attention to the Weasleys, then.'

Merlin growled, again, frustrated. 'You were Gryffindor, weren’t you?' 

'I was.'

He fixed the headmaster with a harsh look. 'He wouldn’t have chosen you if he had been around.'

And then he turned on his heel and went to the Gryffindor Dormitories. The portrait swung open for him, just as it had always done. There were fires burning when he stepped inside. He found Harry in the corner, with his friends, and he sat down across from them.

'Harry,' he said, before anyone could ask who he was. 'Godric would be honoured to have you in his house. Any of the founders would.'

And Harry Potter nodded, once, and Merlin left before he could ask any questions. 

In Harry Potter’s fourth year, a Hufflepuff boy became the Hogwarts Champion, and Merlin returned again to Hogwarts. 

'I didn’t expect to see you again, Emrys.' Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye. 

'I didn’t expect to be back,' he answers, honestly. 

'Will you tell people who you are this time?'

'I won’t tell your ministry, if that’s what you’re asking.'

Dumbledore didn’t say anything to that. Merlin went to the Hufflepuff common room. If people here were confused by the flash of green around his neck, they didn’t say anything. He weaved his way through the crowd— the celebration of their champion was sure to last all night— searching for the handsome boy who’s name had flown out of an enchanted goblet. He found him, in the centre of the room, smiling gracefully and laughing. 

He was charming, Merlin thought, and he seemed fair. So Merlin joined the celebrations, because he could, and he watched Cedric Diggory accept congratulations throughout the night. 

Eventually, Cedric made his way to Merlin. 

'I don’t recognise you,' Cedric said with a smile. 'But I saw you talking to the headmaster, earlier. Sorry if it’s rude, but who are you?'

Merlin grinned in response. 'An old student,' he said, because it was true enough. 'Hogwarts taught me a lot. I visit when I can.'

'I’m Cedric Diggory.'

'I know. You’re famous around here, now.' Merlin clapped a hand on Cedric’s shoulder. 'I would say who I am, but I think you might not believe me.'

Cedric looked at him curiously. 'Try me.'

'My name is Merlin Emrys.'

There was a long pause. 'Is that a joke?'

'Not at all.'

'You’re an old student— Merlin, that’s— oh, sorry— it’s just… wow.'

Merlin grinned, again, and thought of Hufflepuff, in this same common room, playing music. 

'They say you were in Slytherin?' It didn’t sound like a judgement, but Merlin bristled anyway. 

'I was never sorted,' he replied, lifting a shoulder. 'But I knew the founders. I spent time in this room. Did you know that Helga was a musician?'

Cedric shook his head. 

' _Tch_. They never remember the important things about historical figures. Come on, let me play you a song that she taught me.'

By the end of that year, Cedric was dead. Merlin thought about that, sometimes. Cedric had only lived seventeen years, seventeen short years, but Harry Potter had brought his body back for his father, and Merlin had watched another friend die. Would the feeling ever stop ripping him apart? 

He found Dumbledore, after the last feast. 

'Will you shout about Hufflepuff, now?'

'No,' Merlin frowned. 'No, Helga would be proud of him. I agree with you. Cedric was Hufflepuff’s, there is no doubt in my mind.'

'Then why are you here?'

'Because Slytherin’s heir is back. You said so yourself. I ask you again, will you accept my help?'

Dumbledore smiled, patronising. 'You’ve said you don’t understand our magick.'

'I understand evil, Albus. And I am older than you. It would serve you well to stop treating me like I am your student.'

'If you aren’t a student, why do you spend your time in my school?'

Merlin stared at Dumbledore, eyes wide, anger in him. 'Hogwarts has never been your school, Albus Dumbledore. Helga promised me a home here if I ever needed it. Our magick might be different, but I know that magick remembers words like those.'

Dumbledore smiled serenely. 'You are welcome here, Emrys. I don’t mean to imply that you aren’t.'

Merlin blinked at him, twice. Without saying a word, he left. The castle would welcome him back, he knew, if he ever needed to return. But for now, with or without Dumbledore’s consent, Merlin was going to prepare. Something dark was brewing, he could taste it in the air. 

Xenophilius Lovegood had always been a friend to Merlin. They’d met, accidentally, when Xenophilius was a teenager and Merlin was reminiscing in a field that had once been Camelot, and Merlin had told him stories about his sort of magick. Xenophilius would go on to print stories in a magazine about beasts that, according to the ministry, didn’t exist, but, according to Merlin, did. He’d also print a lot of untrue things, so Merlin couldn’t really blame people for being distrustful. 

Regardless, Merlin knew he would have a friend in Xenophilius Lovegood. He spent his summer there, making it a base of operations, a place where he could tap into the wonders of the wizarding world without making too much of a mark. If Xenophilius ever said anything about his houseguest, Merlin Emrys, who would believe him?

Xenophilius had a daughter whom Merlin had never met, with soft blonde hair and an outlook like her father’s. She made him breakfast, every day, all summer, and told him stories, and made her own jewellery, and wanted to explore new places. 

'Are you one of Ravenclaw’s?' He asked her one day. 

'Yes,' Luna answered. 'Do you think she would’ve liked me?'

He admired her pragmatism. 'Yes, I rather think she would. She was an academic, to a degree, but she loved the arts. Did you know she was a painter, like you?'

Luna’s eyes went wide and she shook her head. 'I didn’t. What did she paint?'

'She’s the reason that paintings move, you know. She invented the charm. Do you know the Fat Lady, who guards Gryffindor tower? That’s one of hers. And all of the paintings in Ravenclaw tower, as well.' Merlin smiled, fondly. 'My sort of magick doesn’t have anything quite like that. I think it’s beautiful.'

Luna painted him a picture of an eagle and gave it to him before she left for school that year. Later, when her letters told him of ministry rat in a pink skirt, he decided it was time to return to Hogwarts. 

Dolores Umbridge was, as expected, not very welcoming. 

'It doesn’t matter if you want me here or not, I’m afraid, headmistress. These walls remember me, and they will always welcome me home. Now, if you’ll excuse me—'

'Young man!'

'I’d advise that you didn’t call me "young man". I’m older than you.'

'I have to ask you to leave.'

'Go ahead. Try to kick me out. See what happens.'

Merlin walked off, with that cryptic statement, leaving Umbridge fuming in the corridor, and he went to the Ravenclaw tower. The brass eagle eyed him as he approached. 

'Hello, Rowena,' he greeted it, and the eagle closed it’s eyes for a moment. 

'Hello, Merlin,' the eagle greeted him with Rowena’s voice, and he swallowed hard. 'How is a raven like a writing desk? 

He smiled. Rowena was never like the others. She never let him in easily. 

'I believe that is not a magickal riddle.'

'When has that ever mattered to you?'

Merlin smiled again. 'Edgar Allen Poe wrote on both.'

The door opened, the eagle blinked again, and Rowena’s voice was gone. 

He found Luna curled up in a chair by the fire. He sat down next to her and inquired after her health. She told him she was fine, and she smiled at him in that soft Luna way when he asked if she was certain. 

'Oh yes,' she assured him. 'We’ve started a club. We’re teaching each other.'

'You know,' Merlin said. 'I take back what I said about Rowena liking you. That’s not quite true. I think she would’ve admired you.'

'What will you do when Umbridge finds you?'

'Helga promised me a home here, Luna, many years ago. Magick remembers things like that.'

'Harry Potter is in more danger than me, if you can stay. Make sure he’s okay.'

So Merlin grabbed the arm of one of Harry Potter’s friends and said 'Essence of Dittany is good for soothing pain and lessening scars. Just in case you ever need that information.'

She stared at him, baffled, but nodded her head. 'I recognise you,' she said. 'Second year, you told Harry that Godric would be proud of him.'

'I stand by it. Look out for him, I won’t be able to.'

'Why not?'

Merlin looked at her, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. 'He is marked by magick that I don’t want to touch.'

'You’re Merlin, aren’t you?'

'It was his turn to stare. How did you know?'

'You speak about the founders like they’re old friends. You show up when the school needs protecting. And Luna was writing a letter, the other day, addressed to Emrys.'

He rested a hand on her shoulder and offered her a genuine smile. 'You remind me of Godric.'

'People usually ask why I’m not in Ravenclaw after I get like that.'

'That’s strategy,' he said simply. 'That’s protective instinct. That’s Gryffindor. Hermione Granger, any of the founders would be honoured to have you. Keep fighting.'

'I will,' she promised. 

'Good. So will I.'

It was during Harry Potter’s seventh year at Hogwarts— although he wasn’t in attendance— that Merlin finally met the man that wizarding kind had feared for so long. It wasn’t entirely accidentally, and Merlin got the feeling that they both had been seeking each other out. Lord Voldemort seemed to know who he was. 

'Merlin Emrys, the last of the Sorcerers,' he greeted, and Merlin could feel the magick in the air. 

'Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle,' Merlin said in reply. 'You’re Slytherin’s heir.'

'Yes,' Voldemort replied, a slow, uneasy smile spreading across his fair face.

'And you were sorted into Slytherin’s house, too?'

'Yes.'

Merlin gave a laugh that sounded like a sob. 'Salazar would be ashamed of you.'

'I have his blood and his power, and I am finishing his work. Why would he be ashamed?'

'Do you know what Salazar’s work was? It was about protection, not destruction. You kill and curse for the sake of killing and cursing. You chase immortality without knowing what it means to live forever. This is not Salazar’s work.'  

'What is the source of your immortality, Merlin Emrys? How are you standing here, to judge me?'

Merlin closed his eyes. 'I have known great loss. I have accepted the weight of worlds on my shoulders, and I have known more loss still. You will never live forever. You will not know loss.'

Lord Voldemort laughed, high and cold. 'I have put enchantments you don’t understand in the place. I will live and live and live.'

'I may not understand your sort of magick, but I understand this much.' Merlin grinned, wicked. 'You will not live forever. You will not know any loss aside from the loss of your selves.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes,' Merlin said. 'It is.'

'Will you stop me, then?'

'No,' Merlin said. 'It has to be him. It has to be Harry Potter. I know better than to play with prophecy.'

'I am Slytherin’s heir, I am the master of the elder wand. Harry Potter is a child.'

'Harry Potter is a man now. I care little for wands, and, as I said… you may have Slytherin’s blood in you, but you are not his heir. His monster is dead in his chamber, and his flesh and blood will follow soon.'

And, a few months later, Merlin’s words were proven correct. 

Merlin slipped between hoards of students, weaving protective enchantments into the walls. A teacher had sent the Slytherin students to hide, and Merlin was going to tell them to fight. He wore a shock of green around his neck. He remembered the shape of Salazar’s hands. 

The dungeons were colder than they’d ever been. He entered the room without a password. The Slytherin students looked up when they saw him. 

'Who are you?' Someone shouted, and Merlin paused. 

'My name is Merlin Emrys.' He looked out over the sea of green, and he sighed. 'I was Slytherin’s, once. And now you are. Tell me, who here is willing to fight?'

'Why should we? McGonagall told us to stay here!'

'Salazar… he was wrong, about so many things, but he was trying to do what he thought was right. If you honestly believe that hiding out here is what’s right— or what’s best for you, I’m sure there are some here who shouldn’t go fight— then stay. But if you are willing and able…' Merlin let out a shudder of breath. 'Salazar would be proud if you fought.'

He didn’t mention that Salazar would also be proud of those who didn't fight, so long as they were sticking to their own codes, following their own hearts. So long as they were being their best. It wouldn’t have had the same impact. 

Students stripped themselves of their colours, and he watched, confused. 

'If we go out with green and silver,' said an older student near to him, 'they’ll notice. They’ll stop us.'

He broke into a grin. 

Harry Potter died, and came back, and killed, and throughout all of Hogwarts, students fought for him, and for Hogwarts, and for their beliefs. Merlin cast spells were he felt that he could. He watched Harry Potter destroy an evil man with a spell designed to disarm, and he felt another swell of pride. As soon as he could, he found Harry Potter and rested his arm on his shoulder. Harry looked at his friends, who nodded, and he went with Merlin. 

'You’re Merlin,' Harry said. 'Hermione told me.'

'She’s smart.'

'Where are we going?'

'I want to show you something.'

They walked across the whole school, past sobbing portraits and flickering torches. 

'The girl's toilets?' Harry raised an eyebrow. 'No… the Chamber of Secrets?'

Merlin nodded mutely and gestured to the taps. Harry hissed something, and Merlin watched as the sink opened up. They slid down the pipes, into the chamber that Merlin so remembered. 

'Why are we here?'

'You fought Voldemort here, once.'  

'I fought Voldemort all over this school. Why are we here?'

'I want you to understand something, Harry Potter. I helped to build this Chamber. I watched that snake hatch, and I watched Salazar speak to it.'

'You… you helped?'

'Salazar was my friend. And he was wrong, he was wrong about so many things.'

'He hated muggleborns!'

Merlin sighed. 'And he was wrong to. You were raised by non-magicals, right? You know my story?'

'Don’t wizards know your story?'

'Wizards think I attended Hogwarts as a student. Non-magicals have a clearer view of things.'

'Yes,' Harry said. 'I know your story.'

'Then you know… my closest friends would’ve hated me if they found out what I was. They would’ve hung me for my crimes. Camelot hated magic, Harry Potter. Camelot would've hated me if they’d known what I’d done.'  

'But…'

'I still loved them. They were my friends, and Camelot was my home. But they would’ve hated me for what I was. I may not agree with Salazar’s approach, but I can understand why he did what he did.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because I want you to understand. Salazar was not a bad person. His heir, on the other hand… Voldemort is not a reflection of Slytherin’s as a whole, and he is not a reflection of his ancestor.'

Harry swallowed, and looked towards the basilisk skeleton. 

'No one else remembers it’s name,' Merlin said. 

'What was it called?'

'Slip. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like when Salazar spoke to it.'

Harry laughed, then sobered up. 'I killed it.'

'You did what you had to.'

'I was almost put in Slytherin. It… it meant a lot when you said that Gryffindor would be honoured to have me in his house. But… now you’re saying that Slytherin was important to you.'

Merlin stared at the Boy Who Lived for several long moments. 'They all were important to me. I am telling you this about Slytherin because I want things to change. I am not the one who is going to change it. I am an old man who misses his friends. You will build a new future.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Remember that each of the founders were good people. Remember that every house has good qualities. When people talk about how Slytherin was ‘Voldemort’s House’… remind them of all the good that Slytherin’s have done. Don’t let house rivalries continue.'

'How can I do that?'

'You’re the Boy Who Lived Twice. They’ll listen to you.'

Merlin smiled and wrapped an arm around Harry Potter’s shoulders. 

'It’s never going to be the same, you know.'

'Of course it’s not. It’s going to be better.'

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more, shoot a prompt my way on my tumblr lionofstone! Thanks for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed it!


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